


No Means No

by Soulbarebones



Series: Rock the Cradle [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Ableist Language, Gen, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:45:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulbarebones/pseuds/Soulbarebones
Summary: Caity wants to change Matson's last name. Marshall isn't having it.





	No Means No

Matson's mother Caity, wanted her husband, Jose, adopt him and for Matson to take his last name. And even though Marshall had see this exact scenario from her side of things, he still wasn't budging on the issue.

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because he's not his fucking father, I am!"

"He's more of a father than you are!" Caity's voice was hoarse with anger, but where her's rose in pitch and volume, Marshall's lowered.

His grip tightened on the phone and he spun his wheelchair in a half circle with his other hand. "Why, because you moved out of LA and got two-thirds custody? Because you left me, took my son away from me, and started fucking someone else?"

"Oh, don't start with that bullshit, Marshall!"

"Well I want to know why you think Jose is a better father than me. Why you think I ought to give up rights to Matson. I pay my support. My alimony. I take him on my weekends. In the summer. Whenever you're going away. When you need a break. I'd take him all the goddamn time if you let me, Cait. Matson is my son and I love him and I'm not letting you change his name to Rodriguez just so you have a matching set."

"Fuck you, Marshall Malone!"

There. he'd hit the sore spot. Triumphantly, he spun his wheelchair back the way he'd been facing before. "I do believe that's what got us in this predicament. Now if you excuse me, I have more pressing things to do with my time than argue with you about stupid shit."

"Oh yeah? Heading to another Yoga class for cripples?"

Marshall's jaw worked tightly and it took him a moment to find words. "That was low, Cait. Especially for you."

She was quiet too, until finally a loud sniff broke the silence. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You pissed me off."

"I gathered." Marshall swallowed. His moment of triumph had been short lived. Now all that remained was that tense, angry feeling that seemed to reign whenever he and Caity talked these days. Ever since the wedding. Maybe even since she'd gotten pregnant with Matson's sister, now nearly two.

"Matson still talking to himself?" She asked, voice subdued as she changed the subject.

"He's not talking to himself," Marshall said, glancing toward the bedroom where Matson was playing, jabbering away with conversation-like pauses. "He's got a couple imaginary friends. They said it's normal, that he'll get bored and grow out of it."

"Who's 'they'?"

Marshall sighed. "You know. Internet consensus."

"Maybe talk to him more, Marshall. Stop leaving him alone so much."

And they were right back into it. Somehow, Caity thought this was his fault. "I talk to him all the time, Cait. I'm not sure what it is you think I do when I have him. Just because my legs don't work doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"I didn't say that, Marshall! Stop putting words in my mouth."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just reading between the lines of my lesson plan for Cripple-Yoga."

"God, I hate you some times. Just put him on the phone so I can say goodnight..."

"Fine." Marshall put the phone in his lap and rolled toward the hallway, calling, "Matson! Mom's on the phone!"

The chatter from his room stopped abruptly and Matson excused himself to his invisible guest and scrambled up to take the phone. "Hi! Hi, Mom! Guess what Anne-Louise told me today?"

Marshall stared after his son, then shook his head and ruffled his hand through his hair on the back of his head. When had life gotten so fucked up?

"Do you want to say hi To Anne-Louise? Mom?" Matson's voice was loud, excited, and it echoed down the hallway from his bedroom. "Anne-Louise, tell my Mom how you died!"


End file.
